“I saw you from my window so I came down to help you,” she explains
The IDF has vastly depleted the stockpiles of Hamas rockets intended for our people, and after weeks of living on high alert, we’ve been able to pick up kids, do errands, and go jogging without automatically scanning for the closest shelter. So on that chilly gray January Monday, I’m caught flat-footed.
I’ve just finished my start-of-the-week errands and am heading home with all six of my kids in my Honda Odyssey. As we pass our babysitter’s house, the familiar wail of the air raid siren begins to rise and fall.
The next few minutes are among the most terrifying of my life.
It takes 90 seconds for missiles to reach us from Gaza. When we’re in our apartment and need to run to our in-home bomb shelter, that’s usually enough time. On the street, seat-belted in a car, with one adult and six kids ages one to twelve — it’s not.
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